The Saga of the Dark Lord's Fallible Rise to Power
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: Written for QLFC. A dystopian AU where Voldemort wins. A parody of him defeating his archenemy and rising to power.


**A/n: QLFC Round 8 Prompt: Voldemort!wins Dystopian AU. Captain: How and when does Voldemort 'win' and rise to power?**

 **This is a parody of Voldemort winning and rising to power.**

* * *

 **The Saga of the Dark Lord's Fallible Rise to Power**

* * *

 _If he had known it would take seven years and then some, he would have planned a better retirement. It may have saved him a few burns, as well as his nose._

* * *

 **I**

 **Lord Voldemort, His Nosiness**

"This is your only chance, my lord. You must kill that wretched creature now when it is nothing but a powerless hatchling incapable of hurting anybody but itself."

Voldemort hummed as he eyed the crimson-painted horizon. Flickering gold lined the low-hanging clouds, making the blood-coloured sunset look far less menacing than it should have. Somehow the sight irked him, and it furthered his resentment.

Spinning on his heel, he strode down the slope, his dark robes billowing around his ankles. Bellatrix followed close at his heel, and a handful of his most trusted Death Eaters stood waiting further down.

He came to a stop before the one standing at the very front. "You're absolutely certain that this information is true?"

The man bowed his greasy head. "Yes, my lord. As I said, the source," his gaze flickered to the side and his voice dropped a decibel, "is a reliable one."

"I certainly hope so," Voldemort murmured, twisting his wand in his hands, "for your sake, Severus."

Severus's gaze flitted down, his complexion paling in the slightest, before he looked back up, resolute. The corners of Voldemort's mouth quirked upwards in a satisfied sneer when Severus said, "Of course, my lord."

Voldemort half-turned with a flourish and addressed his Death Eaters. "Remember this night well, my loyal ones, for you shall witness the triumph of Lord Voldemort over his piteous foe!"

The small group exchanged grins of delight and chanted, "Long live the Dark Lord, he who shall reign supreme!"

* * *

 **II**

 **Lord Voldemort and "It can breathe fire?!"**

When Severus had told him that Dumbledore had found a weapon that would lead to his destruction, Voldemort had assumed it would be an actual weapon. Or, at least, a weapon that wasn't small, scaly and could barely prop itself up on its two tiny feet.

He stared into the wide, emerald eyes of the hatchling before him, feeling a deep-seated sense of disgust burst forth from within.

"Bellatrix," he hissed, twitching as the creature gurgled. " _What is this?"_

"It's a newborn dragon, my lord," Bellatrix said.

"Yes, I can see that for myself," Voldemort snapped as he moved around the corpses of the dragon's keepers, the Potters. " _This_ is the demon of destruction that was prophesied to destroy me?"

He brought his face unnecessarily close to glare at it. "You dare mock me with this pitiful creature, Dumbledore?" he spat, raising his wand. "I shall show you what you get for taking me for a fool!"

The red-and-gold dragon hiccoughed, sending a torrent of fire Voldemort's way. With a scream, he hurriedly put up a shield, but not before the damned creature had burned half his face off.

" _Aaah!"_

"My lord!"

In the moment of confusion, the baby dragon seemed to panic and send balls of fire in all directions. Sensing his life to be in danger and barely able to see through one eye, Voldemort scurried backwards as he shot spell after spell at the beast. All of them seemed to miss their target save for one, the Killing Curse, which ricocheted off a scale on the dragon's forehead and hit Voldemort square in the chest.

As he fell back, he gasped, "You won't get away with this! I am the Dark Lord! I am—"

And then everything went black.

* * *

 **III**

 **Lord Voldemort and "Turbans are hot and stink!"**

Of all the places he had seen himself in during his years of power and glory, never had he ever imagined he would end up on the back of a stuttering fool's bald, sweaty, turbaned head. That was a feat in itself, even if he felt nothing remotely close to accomplishment for it.

Aside from the fact that his movements were restricted, his face in the mirror was nothing less than hideous. Even the troll he had once slain in his youth had looked better off. _And_ it had a nose.

"Is this the greatest sacrifice I shall have to make in order to be all powerful?"

"M-M-My lord?" Quirinus Quirrell stammered.

"You better not betray me, Quirinus."

' _How can I?'_ Voldemort heard the fool think. ' _You've merged into the back of my head.'_

"At least you don't stutter in your thoughts," Voldemort said bitterly, to which Quirinus whimpered.

There was a sound from the corridor, and Quirinus hurriedly wrapped the turban around his head, catching the edge in Voldemort's mouth and pulling it all the way up to cover one eye. "This would never happen if I still had my nose," Voldemort bit around the cloth, but Quirinus was too busy panicking to hear his woes.

' _Curse you, Dumbledore and your vile dragon! I shall get that stone if it's the last thing I do! After that—off with your noses!'_

' _Shouldn't it be their heads, my lord?'_

'Now _you choose to listen?!'_

In the end, not only did he not get a body or the stone that granted immortal life, his face was once again burned by the despicable creature, and he was forced to flee. All the while back to safety, the only thing he could think of was that it was a good thing there hadn't been anybody around to trap his spectral form in a glass jar. Merlin, what a disaster that would have been.

* * *

 **IV**

 **Lord Voldemort and "Yes, I own a diary. So?"**

He had always wondered if there existed someone foolish enough to pour their heart and soul into what was obviously a diary filled to the brim with dark magic (' _I mean, isn't it usually bad news if your diary talks back to you?')._ Ginny Weasley was the perfect example of why the world needed him to wipe it clean of idiots. Morgana knew what other utterly mindless things someone of her calibre would do. Like write on walls in blood, or open the Chamber of Secrets, or set free a gigantic basilisk that turned people to statues.

The only good thing about the foolish girl was that she was so suggestible (' _Really, what intelligent eleven-year-old listens to a suspicious boy trapped in an old, black book, especially when she has no idea how it entered her possession?')._ She turned out to be rather useful, if not more resilient than he had thought, so he would give her credit for that.

Glancing over his shoulder, a smile playing on his lips, he watched as the young redhead wrote in the diary. His physical form manifested as she poured her soul into him, and he ran his hands up and down his body. Laughter gurgled from within and escaped his phantasmal lips in a high-pitched cackle.

"Good girl," he said silkily as she placed her icy hand in his and looked up with lifeless eyes. Leading her forwards, he came to stand in the centre of the spacious Chamber. He flicked his wand to collapse the entrance and sighed, pleased. That wretched dragon would never be able to get in there through the blocked pipes now.

There was a wet _thud_ , and he turned to see that the girl had fallen to the ground, her hollow eyes staring unseeingly at the cold floor. Had he pushed her too far? "No matter," he said as he raised his eyes to stare at the glistening ceiling. Now there was but one way for the beast to come to him: by bombarding its way through.

He readied his wand and took a defensive stance as the ceiling rumbled and cracked. "Come and meet your end, dragon!"

There was a muffled roar, and the ceiling shattered. He put up a shield, watching with delight as flames licked the wet walls, causing steam to rise. The basilisk lunged through the condensation that had formed a cloud above them, smashing into the wall as the dragon dodged with a roar. He laughed, watching the two beasts attack each other like the predators that they were, adding his own curses to the flurry.

The rising steam soon reduced visibility, and he couldn't quite make out the goings on, except for the roars and shattering sounds. The dragon must have gotten the upper hand somehow, because the basilisk came crashing down, nearly squashing him, and a torrent of flames burned the snake's body to ash.

"No!" His elation turned to anger at the fact that even a huge monster was no match for the dragon. "Die, you horrid creature!" His body flickered as flames shot towards him, and he laughed. Just then, he was indestructible!

As though having figured that out, the dragon dove towards the girl, and before he realised what was happening, it had scooped her up in its talons, the small, black book in its maw.

" _No!"_ he screamed as the dragon bit into his diary, and his soul disintegrated.

* * *

 **V**

 **Lord Voldemort and "I took a year off for recreational purposes."**

It had taken an entire year for him to finally recover enough strength to regain a physical body. He was still weak and dependant, but his minion feared his power too much to even try to resist him. He had wasted too much time, but now he had been given another opportunity. The dragon was to be the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was his chance to kill it once and for all. All he had to do was rig it so the champion that faced the dragon would be one of Karkaroff's. The fool may be a coward, but he still had his uses.

From there, things fell into place perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle. He could feel it—everything was coming together and boiling down to the moment where he would finally have his revenge.

Voldemort had his physical body back, courtesy of his minion's clumsy efforts, and now all he had to do was defeat Dumbledore, and he would have no one to challenge him. But first, the damned dragon that had taken away everything from him—including his perfect nose—would have to die.

He pulled out a flask from within his robes and took a long swig from it. Voldemort felt his body morph due to the effects of the Polyjuice Potion, and he made his way through the crowd and settled down to watch the fight between dragons and champions.

The first two matches were of no interest to him; he was more intrigued to see what the third would entail. Victor Krum was the name of the champion who would face that wretched beast, and he looked to be capable enough to slay it. If Karkaroff had followed his every word to the letter, then Krum would be under the Imperius Curse and would do Voldemort's bidding for him.

Leaning forwards in his seat, he watched with rapt attention as Krum battled the dragon—a miserable creature whose strength came from the cross-breeding between a Hungarian Horntail and a Chinese Fireball—its crimson and gold scales shimmering as the boy's spells ricocheted off them. One of the spells, though, hit the dragon just above its right eye—the exact same spot that Voldemort's _Avada Kedavra_ had struck years ago—which turned out to be its only weak point.

The dragon let out a thunderous roar, and in its anger, managed to free itself and fly off into the sunset. Voldemort rose to his feet with a furious yell. His perfect plan had been foiled yet again!

* * *

 **VI**

 **Lord Voldemort and "I'm back, bitches!"**

Somehow, Dumbledore had managed to hide the wounded dragon in the Ministry, right under the incompetent fool of a Minister's nose.

Dumbledore had been reasonably right in believing that the Ministry was safer than any other place to house the injured beast, yet it was his overconfidence in its security that led to his downfall. His arrogance that Voldemort wouldn't be able to get past the Ministry's defences when Dumbledore himself had succeeded in smuggling a nearly full-grown dragon in was what ebbed Voldemort to prove him wrong.

The battle that ensued in the Department of Mysteries caused more of a loss to the Order and the Ministry than to Voldemort. Although he hadn't managed to finish off the beast, yet again, he was sure he had done it considerable damage. He had also noticed in his duel with Dumbledore that the man who was considered to be the greatest wizard of all time didn't seem all that powerful. He was a force to reckon with, no doubt, but he wasn't as much a threat as it should have been.

This caused a sense of trepidation to blossom within Voldemort. Could Dumbledore have possibly figured out his secret?

' _Impossible,'_ he told himself, yet there was that gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away. ' _Well, there's only one way to make sure of that.'_

By killing Dumbledore, he gained one of the greatest treasures of the wizarding world: The Elder Wand. It was powerful, but Voldemort couldn't help but wonder if it would do any damage against a dragon with scales of steel. Even in its semi-healed state, it was still a formidable foe, and by killing its master, Voldemort seemed to have unleashed its true power. In the end, it was an uncontainable monster whose abilities had been kept in check by Dumbledore. By killing the only thing that had kept the dragon from rampaging, Voldemort had let loose a fearsome creature into the world.

Although it went about killing everyone and destroying everything indiscriminately, Voldemort knew that unless he slew it, he would never truly hold the power he so desired. It was a task worthy of him.

Voldemort would slay the wicked dragon and rule the world as its saviour.

* * *

 **VII**

 **Lord Voldemort and "I finally killed the dragon but am faced with a greater challenge: early retirement!"**

It was something out of a fairytale, the final scene where he vanquished his greatest enemy.

The dragon had exhausted itself by running amuck. The whole of the wizarding world had come together and taken up arms against it. It put up a glorious fight, but even a creature as great as it had to reach its limits sooner or later.

Much to Voldemort's delight, it was sooner than later.

While the dragon had taken its time doing most of his work for him, Voldemort had simply sat back and spent a year putting the final touches to his master plan and honing his dark magic. He was an evil mastermind, but he was a hard-working evil mastermind.

It turned out that his fears that Dumbledore had found out about his Horcruxes were unfounded after all. Dumbledore's dwindling power had been due to nearly two decades of suppressing the wild beast and keeping it under control. It had less to do with Voldemort than he had thought, and that somehow frustrated him more. Even until the very end, Dumbledore had been looking down at him.

"Just watch me from wherever you are, you old fool," he said. "I shall vanquish your pet and prove all your efforts worthless once and for all! For I am Lord Voldemort, and I shall reign supreme!"

"Er, my lord?"

He paused in his maniacal laughing to turn and eye the doorway where Bellatrix stood, a sceptical expression on her face. "What is it?" he snapped.

"It's time, my lord." She hesitated for a moment before saying, "Forgive me for interrupting your… uh… pep talk…"

He watched her walk away, a long-forgotten sense of mortification rising to the surface. He quelled it quickly as he swished his robes, picked up his wand, and made his way out.

The final battle took place at Hogwarts for the sole reason that the dragon was still not over its master's death and used the school as its home base.

In the end, though, the dragon became the cause for its own destruction. All the unhealed wounds, both physical and emotional, led to its unravelling, and all Voldemort had to really do was aim his wand and shoot a well-timed curse at its weak spot: the lightning-bolt shaped scar above its right eye.

The beast came crashing down with an almighty roar, and Voldemort took a moment to cheer and pat himself on the back—a moment too long, it turned out, because before he knew it, he was engulfed in flames yet again, and was writhing on the ground, screaming, in an attempt to put them out.

Thus, the Dark Lord, after finally having defeated his archenemy, was forced into early retirement due to the severe burns that he received during the battle. He chose to stay in retirement even after they were healed because it turned out that he had always had a serious complex about his nose, which was what had let to his fixation over Dumbledore and his dragon (both of whom had rather large noses). It took time, and lots of doting from his Death Eaters and new followers, but he eventually grew confident enough about his nose-lessness to come forth and rule the world as its saviour.

Thus ends the tale of how Lord Voldemort rose to power after persevering repeated defeats and disappointments at the claws of his nemesis, whom he defeated in a ceremonious, and rather moving, battle.


End file.
